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summer_of_giles2023-07-28 09:28 pm
apachefirecat) wrote in summer_of_giles2023-07-28 09:28 pm
Entry tags:
FIC: Moving On Up (Giles-Centric with Many Mentions of Others)
Title: Moving On Up
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Author: Apache Firecat
Characters: Giles, with many mentions of other characters and pairings
Rating: PG/K+
Summary: Many years ago, he watched them graduate. Now, some might say, it is his turn.
Word Count: 2,866
Written For: Summer of Giles 2023
Warnings: Future Fic, Character Deaths, both Canon and Non-Canon
Disclaimer: All characters within belong to their rightful owners, not the author, and are used without permission.
His heart ached yet also swelled with pride as he looked over his vast estate. For a change, it was not raining in his beloved England, although he'd spotted a few gray clouds gathering nearer and knew they'd at least get a sprinkle before the day was over. It wasn't like sunny, old Cali with its never-ending sunshine and heat. It wasn't like the dratted Americas at all. He was glad he had come home, although it had been a painful decision.
There had been a time in his life, which had stretched for most of his formative years actually, when he'd hated the thought of ever leaving his motherland. He'd hated the idea of dressing in tweed, which he wore even now, even when he'd first relented and surrendered to studying to follow in his old man's footsteps. He wondered how much longer it would be before he saw his father again, and what the old man would say of all he had done. It would not, could not possibly be much longer for, despite everything his father had done, all he'd put Giles and his mother through, he'd been mostly a good man, a bit misguided perhaps -- Okay, Giles shifted slightly, the rising breeze tugging playfully at his jacket's sleeves and coat tails, a lot misguided, but his intentions had always been good. He could see that now, looking back.
He could see so very much now, looking back, and looking forward, he could see the very reasons why it had been so difficult to leave California once he'd gone. There were two of them before him now, and they were resplendent in the sunshine. At one time in their lives, they would have made the most unlikely of friends, one being so popular with her cheerleading and the other being a shy, little bookworm as he himself had been when he'd been her age. If not for Ethan, Rupert wondered, at times, if he would have ever grown a pair.
Many thought he'd had plenty of bollocks when he'd told his old man off -- others had simply thought he was stark raving mad. But the truth had been that he'd lacked the courage to genuinely stand on his own two feet. He'd made a good show of it all, but underneath his tough, rebellious exterior had been a boy terrified of figuring out how to live life on his own terms but even more terrified of being expected to follow in his father's boorish footsteps. Not to mention possibly being called to guide a Slayer, and letting the entire world down.
Oh, he'd let the world down a couple of times all right. Invoking Eyghon certainly had not been the least of them, but it had also not proven to be the greatest as he had feared for so many, long years. He'd let his old man and the Watcher's Council down after all, but by that time, their inane rules had meant little to him. The ways they'd had of testing the Slayer had never come to any true good but had served to kill many a good girl far before her time. So many Slayers' deaths were on their hands, not the Vampires or Demons who had actually defeated them in battle. Giles did not, and had not, regretted a single time he had stood to the Council, or to his father.
He also certainly did not regret leaving California, or leaving behind those who had come to mean so much to him was why he had stayed as long as he had. Perhaps his timing could have been better, but it had been necessary. He'd never known how long he himself had had, and he'd seen the toll losing Joyce had taken on Buffy. He'd had to know that she could make it on her own if it had come to that for he'd always known it would one day. He could have chosen a better time, he thought again, but he'd done it at a time when he had still been able to fly back to her aid if she truly needed him, or even teleport as he had when Willow had been lost to them in grief, anger, and hatred after Tara's murder. He'd had to know his Slayer would be okay. He'd had to know they would all be okay.
They would all be okay, he thought, removing his spectacles and wiping the tears from his wizened eyes. He then proceeded to clean his glasses, something that he no longer needed to do as he could now see fine without them, but it had been a reassuring habit of his for many years. His thin, pale lips curved into a fond smile as he recalled hearing the children joke about how often he cleaned these very spectacles, and then considered the odds that this particular pair had survived so very many battles.
They had all survived so many battles, he reflected, sliding them back onto his face and looking back down into the meadow. He and Willow had ridden through this very meadow many times and had shared several, deep and meaningful conversations. He'd done all he could to guide her, to guide all the children with which the Gods had chosen to bless him. It was odd, he thought, reflecting back once more with a grin that hovered near a smirk, how many children he had guided over the years, how many he had come to love and dote upon like a father, especially when his old self had fled from the mere idea of ever having a child.
The Council had hated that about his relationship with Buffy. They had tried so hard to split them apart on so many occasions, and Rupert denied any prospect that pride might play at all in his thoughts that the world would not have been saved nearly as many times as it had if there had been other duo leading the fight against its evils. His Slayer had been special, and although he was rather certain that every good Watcher had felt that way about their Slayer, his Slayer had proven just how special she was time and again. She had broken all the records held before her, but she had done so much more than that, reshaping everything the Council had thought they had known about Slaying and even building a new world order. She'd still sought his approval for that as well even in the final minutes of a war they could not have otherwise possibly won.
And his girls were still growing. They were still growing and looking ever more beautiful with every passing day. He had taught them so much; they had taught him as well, how to open up and love, how to truly live for arguably the first time in his life. They had even gotten him to where he'd not hidden behind books, music, drugs, or magic, or his spectacles for that matter. There had been a time, with each of them, when he'd opened up far more than he had to any other person.
"Not yet," he whispered, sensing a shifting in the air. The breeze was still increasing. Clouds were beginning to gather, but something more, grander and somehow both darker and lighter, was also gathering near. The rippling he felt ceased at his quiet plea.
He wasn't ready. He should be ready, but he wasn't, and his desire not to leave this time had nothing to do with his beloved country. Oh, he still loved Mother England as much as he always had, but he wasn't ready to leave his girls. He wasn't ready to leave his family. Just a little while longer, he wanted to beg, but he knew that was always the case. Few were ever truly ready to leave this world, yet the journey must always continue.
And it would continue just fine without him, Giles knew, watching as more people, more strong, capable, wonderful, and beautiful adults who had touched his life and whom he had guided to where they now were, entered into the meadow. They were all solemn, all dressed in black. But he didn't see the color of the clothes or their dour expressions. He saw children who had become adults who had become survivors who had become leaders, each and every one in their own right.
Xander and Dawn entered from East side of the meadow, and suddenly, Rupert realized, his eyes widening behind his spectacles, just what he was witnessing. He had visited with each of the children over the last few days, wanting to make certain they would all be fine, but he had not eavesdropped on their conversations together. He had no choice now but to let them be, to let them lead and guide and do as they saw fit. His own time for guidance was at an end.
He suddenly felt like shaking as he noticed, for the first time, the white candles in each of their hands. He felt a gentle hand at his elbow but did not turn toward the intruder. Death could wait. He'd certainly delayed it many times before. He could have -- would have, he determined, at least a few more minutes. He saw Willow chanting and felt the sky turn dark.
It was then that two men entered from the North. He'd not always thought of them as men, and had cautioned the children not to as well, but he had for some time now. He was not surprised at Spike's presence, but he was by Angel's, and even more so that they stood and walked in perfect unison. They were men, both good men, and he knew both would stop at nothing to protect and guide Buffy whenever she needed it. The most special thing about his marvelous Slayer, his daughter by any other sense of the word, was her humanity, her human connections and emotions that she'd always staunchly refused to abandon, and it was because of those, because of the very warriors now gathering in his favorite meadow, that Giles knew she would never be alone.
Buffy raised her blonde head suddenly and looked directly at the hill upon which Rupert stood. His heart gave a leap as his tears started anew. The hand on his elbow inched closer, and somehow managed to feel both more pressing and lighter. The person wanted him to know she was there, he knew, but he wasn't leaving just yet.
Buffy also was not seeing him, he knew. No matter how much it felt, in that second, like their eyes were connecting, she would not see him again for a good many more years. She still had work to do. She still had time here on the living Earth, but his time was over. He could not cheat death yet again.
"She's going to be just fine." The hand squeezed his elbow. "I was scared too, when I left her."
Startled, Rupert looked to his right and directly into a pair of eyes that, though older, looked so much like those of their owner's daughter. "Joyce!" he croaked out, almost yelping. She certainly was not who he had expected!
She smiled. "You were expecting, maybe," she slowly shook her curly head and shrugged her shoulders, "Death? You are a hero, Mister Giles. Your journey will no longer be a hard one."
"Ah, but it will," he spoke forlornly, his words whispering onto the wind that snatched them down and echoed through the meadow with them emitting in a wordless sigh. It was Willow this time, who looked up directly at the point where he stood. She smiled, and he wondered, for a moment, if she saw him. If she did, though, she made no further reaction. Perhaps she did not want to cruelly raise the others' hopes. Perhaps she did see him, but knew he had to go this time.
They were coming together now, Buffy and Willow from the South; Xander and Dawn, along with a brand-new soul he could sense, from the East; Angel and Spike, walking shoulder to shoulder, from the North; and Faith and -- it took him a moment to make out Andrew's grave face in the dark depths of his hooded cloak, Andrew from the West. Now that was a pairing he'd not expected, even with Faith's penchant for virgins, but the boy, like the rest of them, had grown so much. His heart ached even more. His mouth opened, but it shut again. He yearned to ask who would guide them now, but he knew it could no longer be him. Besides, it was their turn to do the guiding, and the leading. It was his turn, as he'd known so many years ago would come one day, to step back finally and completely. He bowed his gray head.
"Hey, don't look so sad, buttercup."
His head jerked back up, and he turned to the East. The wind rose again with his startled gasp at the smiling spirits he saw there.
"They're not alone," Cordelia said, smiling.
"They're never going to be alone again," added Anya. Her smile had turned upside down as she glowered at Xander and Dawn. She folded her arms before her. "Although Xander's got some explaining to do!"
"Anya! Cordelia!" Giles looked questioningly at the green-skinned Demon who had first spoken.
"Friend of Angel's," he explained.
"And mine. Hey, Giles!" Cordelia started to float gracefully toward him, but Anya broke into a run. She raced across the grass that her bare feet did not need to touch and threw herself at him. Her arms surrounded him, and she hugged him tightly.
"Ah, Anya." His chest and shoulders rose and fell in the habitual motions of breathing, although he no longer required oxygen. He pressed a loving, fatherly hand against her brown hair and held her closer, his other arm encircling her.
The ritual to honor him had begun down below them when Anya finally released him, hugged him again, and then released once more. Before he could speak, Cordelia threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly. "My entire life changed because of you and your Slayer," she confessed.
"Is that a bad thing?" he queried softly, puzzled.
"No," she answered without hesitation. Stepping back, she looked directly up into his face. Before him, Rupert no longer saw the rich cheerleader who had acted as though she cared for nobody else, but instead witnessed a strong and confident woman, just as he did every time he looked upon Willow or Buffy, or even Dawn for that matter. "It may not have been the way I thought I wanted it to be," she spoke honestly. "Angel and I might not have ever gotten The Happy -- "
"You and Angel?!" he sputtered, surprised. "How odd!"
"Oh, yeah, that's the Princess and the Champion there, almost as legendary as he was with your girl."
"And you are...?"
"Just call me Lorne, Peaches, but look, you've got a whole bunch of people waiting for you beyond the Pearly Gates. We're only the Welcoming Committee. They wanted you to know your kids will be well taken care of and well guided."
"I'm haunting Xander Harris forever!" declared Anya.
"Sure, you are, Duchess."
"Duchess?"
"He has a nickname for everybody," Cordelia explained, grinning. "I'm the Princess."
"You always were," Giles murmured.
"Mister Giles?" Joyce asked. A bright light was emitting just behind her, and Rupert could hear the murmuring of a myriad of voices. Amongst them, he was pretty certain he heard Jenny, and... Ethan?! Was that Ethan?! How had it --
Joyce smiled patiently. "It is not our place to judge, Mister Giles."
Rupert paused and looked back into the meadow again, at all the wonderful, capable adults he was leaving. It was no longer his time to judge, or to guide, but he had done his work well. Parting from them was not forever, either. They would each come to join him, and the others awaiting him now, when it was their turn to do so. But right now, it was his turn.
"Rupert? England, is that you?"
"Oh, come on, Ripper! Don't dawdle!"
How had Ethan made it there, Rupert wondered? But then, he'd once thought it impossible for him to make it there.
"Mister Giles, our friends are waiting. Peace is waiting. And our girl is going to be just fine." Joyce held out a hand to him.
He looked, one final time, over his tweed-clad shoulder. His smile filled his face and warmed the air. "She will, won't she?" he asked, and then took her mother's hand and the first few steps toward his own future. His children would be fine, and apparently, they even had their very own set of Guardian Angels to continue guiding them while he could not. He gently tugged on Joyce's hand, and looked up into the eyes of the woman he'd never dared to actually date while they'd both been doing their best to raise Buffy, to raise his Slayer, and daughter, and her daughter. "Call me Rupert," he spoke smoothly and smiled.
The End
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Author: Apache Firecat
Characters: Giles, with many mentions of other characters and pairings
Rating: PG/K+
Summary: Many years ago, he watched them graduate. Now, some might say, it is his turn.
Word Count: 2,866
Written For: Summer of Giles 2023
Warnings: Future Fic, Character Deaths, both Canon and Non-Canon
Disclaimer: All characters within belong to their rightful owners, not the author, and are used without permission.
His heart ached yet also swelled with pride as he looked over his vast estate. For a change, it was not raining in his beloved England, although he'd spotted a few gray clouds gathering nearer and knew they'd at least get a sprinkle before the day was over. It wasn't like sunny, old Cali with its never-ending sunshine and heat. It wasn't like the dratted Americas at all. He was glad he had come home, although it had been a painful decision.
There had been a time in his life, which had stretched for most of his formative years actually, when he'd hated the thought of ever leaving his motherland. He'd hated the idea of dressing in tweed, which he wore even now, even when he'd first relented and surrendered to studying to follow in his old man's footsteps. He wondered how much longer it would be before he saw his father again, and what the old man would say of all he had done. It would not, could not possibly be much longer for, despite everything his father had done, all he'd put Giles and his mother through, he'd been mostly a good man, a bit misguided perhaps -- Okay, Giles shifted slightly, the rising breeze tugging playfully at his jacket's sleeves and coat tails, a lot misguided, but his intentions had always been good. He could see that now, looking back.
He could see so very much now, looking back, and looking forward, he could see the very reasons why it had been so difficult to leave California once he'd gone. There were two of them before him now, and they were resplendent in the sunshine. At one time in their lives, they would have made the most unlikely of friends, one being so popular with her cheerleading and the other being a shy, little bookworm as he himself had been when he'd been her age. If not for Ethan, Rupert wondered, at times, if he would have ever grown a pair.
Many thought he'd had plenty of bollocks when he'd told his old man off -- others had simply thought he was stark raving mad. But the truth had been that he'd lacked the courage to genuinely stand on his own two feet. He'd made a good show of it all, but underneath his tough, rebellious exterior had been a boy terrified of figuring out how to live life on his own terms but even more terrified of being expected to follow in his father's boorish footsteps. Not to mention possibly being called to guide a Slayer, and letting the entire world down.
Oh, he'd let the world down a couple of times all right. Invoking Eyghon certainly had not been the least of them, but it had also not proven to be the greatest as he had feared for so many, long years. He'd let his old man and the Watcher's Council down after all, but by that time, their inane rules had meant little to him. The ways they'd had of testing the Slayer had never come to any true good but had served to kill many a good girl far before her time. So many Slayers' deaths were on their hands, not the Vampires or Demons who had actually defeated them in battle. Giles did not, and had not, regretted a single time he had stood to the Council, or to his father.
He also certainly did not regret leaving California, or leaving behind those who had come to mean so much to him was why he had stayed as long as he had. Perhaps his timing could have been better, but it had been necessary. He'd never known how long he himself had had, and he'd seen the toll losing Joyce had taken on Buffy. He'd had to know that she could make it on her own if it had come to that for he'd always known it would one day. He could have chosen a better time, he thought again, but he'd done it at a time when he had still been able to fly back to her aid if she truly needed him, or even teleport as he had when Willow had been lost to them in grief, anger, and hatred after Tara's murder. He'd had to know his Slayer would be okay. He'd had to know they would all be okay.
They would all be okay, he thought, removing his spectacles and wiping the tears from his wizened eyes. He then proceeded to clean his glasses, something that he no longer needed to do as he could now see fine without them, but it had been a reassuring habit of his for many years. His thin, pale lips curved into a fond smile as he recalled hearing the children joke about how often he cleaned these very spectacles, and then considered the odds that this particular pair had survived so very many battles.
They had all survived so many battles, he reflected, sliding them back onto his face and looking back down into the meadow. He and Willow had ridden through this very meadow many times and had shared several, deep and meaningful conversations. He'd done all he could to guide her, to guide all the children with which the Gods had chosen to bless him. It was odd, he thought, reflecting back once more with a grin that hovered near a smirk, how many children he had guided over the years, how many he had come to love and dote upon like a father, especially when his old self had fled from the mere idea of ever having a child.
The Council had hated that about his relationship with Buffy. They had tried so hard to split them apart on so many occasions, and Rupert denied any prospect that pride might play at all in his thoughts that the world would not have been saved nearly as many times as it had if there had been other duo leading the fight against its evils. His Slayer had been special, and although he was rather certain that every good Watcher had felt that way about their Slayer, his Slayer had proven just how special she was time and again. She had broken all the records held before her, but she had done so much more than that, reshaping everything the Council had thought they had known about Slaying and even building a new world order. She'd still sought his approval for that as well even in the final minutes of a war they could not have otherwise possibly won.
And his girls were still growing. They were still growing and looking ever more beautiful with every passing day. He had taught them so much; they had taught him as well, how to open up and love, how to truly live for arguably the first time in his life. They had even gotten him to where he'd not hidden behind books, music, drugs, or magic, or his spectacles for that matter. There had been a time, with each of them, when he'd opened up far more than he had to any other person.
"Not yet," he whispered, sensing a shifting in the air. The breeze was still increasing. Clouds were beginning to gather, but something more, grander and somehow both darker and lighter, was also gathering near. The rippling he felt ceased at his quiet plea.
He wasn't ready. He should be ready, but he wasn't, and his desire not to leave this time had nothing to do with his beloved country. Oh, he still loved Mother England as much as he always had, but he wasn't ready to leave his girls. He wasn't ready to leave his family. Just a little while longer, he wanted to beg, but he knew that was always the case. Few were ever truly ready to leave this world, yet the journey must always continue.
And it would continue just fine without him, Giles knew, watching as more people, more strong, capable, wonderful, and beautiful adults who had touched his life and whom he had guided to where they now were, entered into the meadow. They were all solemn, all dressed in black. But he didn't see the color of the clothes or their dour expressions. He saw children who had become adults who had become survivors who had become leaders, each and every one in their own right.
Xander and Dawn entered from East side of the meadow, and suddenly, Rupert realized, his eyes widening behind his spectacles, just what he was witnessing. He had visited with each of the children over the last few days, wanting to make certain they would all be fine, but he had not eavesdropped on their conversations together. He had no choice now but to let them be, to let them lead and guide and do as they saw fit. His own time for guidance was at an end.
He suddenly felt like shaking as he noticed, for the first time, the white candles in each of their hands. He felt a gentle hand at his elbow but did not turn toward the intruder. Death could wait. He'd certainly delayed it many times before. He could have -- would have, he determined, at least a few more minutes. He saw Willow chanting and felt the sky turn dark.
It was then that two men entered from the North. He'd not always thought of them as men, and had cautioned the children not to as well, but he had for some time now. He was not surprised at Spike's presence, but he was by Angel's, and even more so that they stood and walked in perfect unison. They were men, both good men, and he knew both would stop at nothing to protect and guide Buffy whenever she needed it. The most special thing about his marvelous Slayer, his daughter by any other sense of the word, was her humanity, her human connections and emotions that she'd always staunchly refused to abandon, and it was because of those, because of the very warriors now gathering in his favorite meadow, that Giles knew she would never be alone.
Buffy raised her blonde head suddenly and looked directly at the hill upon which Rupert stood. His heart gave a leap as his tears started anew. The hand on his elbow inched closer, and somehow managed to feel both more pressing and lighter. The person wanted him to know she was there, he knew, but he wasn't leaving just yet.
Buffy also was not seeing him, he knew. No matter how much it felt, in that second, like their eyes were connecting, she would not see him again for a good many more years. She still had work to do. She still had time here on the living Earth, but his time was over. He could not cheat death yet again.
"She's going to be just fine." The hand squeezed his elbow. "I was scared too, when I left her."
Startled, Rupert looked to his right and directly into a pair of eyes that, though older, looked so much like those of their owner's daughter. "Joyce!" he croaked out, almost yelping. She certainly was not who he had expected!
She smiled. "You were expecting, maybe," she slowly shook her curly head and shrugged her shoulders, "Death? You are a hero, Mister Giles. Your journey will no longer be a hard one."
"Ah, but it will," he spoke forlornly, his words whispering onto the wind that snatched them down and echoed through the meadow with them emitting in a wordless sigh. It was Willow this time, who looked up directly at the point where he stood. She smiled, and he wondered, for a moment, if she saw him. If she did, though, she made no further reaction. Perhaps she did not want to cruelly raise the others' hopes. Perhaps she did see him, but knew he had to go this time.
They were coming together now, Buffy and Willow from the South; Xander and Dawn, along with a brand-new soul he could sense, from the East; Angel and Spike, walking shoulder to shoulder, from the North; and Faith and -- it took him a moment to make out Andrew's grave face in the dark depths of his hooded cloak, Andrew from the West. Now that was a pairing he'd not expected, even with Faith's penchant for virgins, but the boy, like the rest of them, had grown so much. His heart ached even more. His mouth opened, but it shut again. He yearned to ask who would guide them now, but he knew it could no longer be him. Besides, it was their turn to do the guiding, and the leading. It was his turn, as he'd known so many years ago would come one day, to step back finally and completely. He bowed his gray head.
"Hey, don't look so sad, buttercup."
His head jerked back up, and he turned to the East. The wind rose again with his startled gasp at the smiling spirits he saw there.
"They're not alone," Cordelia said, smiling.
"They're never going to be alone again," added Anya. Her smile had turned upside down as she glowered at Xander and Dawn. She folded her arms before her. "Although Xander's got some explaining to do!"
"Anya! Cordelia!" Giles looked questioningly at the green-skinned Demon who had first spoken.
"Friend of Angel's," he explained.
"And mine. Hey, Giles!" Cordelia started to float gracefully toward him, but Anya broke into a run. She raced across the grass that her bare feet did not need to touch and threw herself at him. Her arms surrounded him, and she hugged him tightly.
"Ah, Anya." His chest and shoulders rose and fell in the habitual motions of breathing, although he no longer required oxygen. He pressed a loving, fatherly hand against her brown hair and held her closer, his other arm encircling her.
The ritual to honor him had begun down below them when Anya finally released him, hugged him again, and then released once more. Before he could speak, Cordelia threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly. "My entire life changed because of you and your Slayer," she confessed.
"Is that a bad thing?" he queried softly, puzzled.
"No," she answered without hesitation. Stepping back, she looked directly up into his face. Before him, Rupert no longer saw the rich cheerleader who had acted as though she cared for nobody else, but instead witnessed a strong and confident woman, just as he did every time he looked upon Willow or Buffy, or even Dawn for that matter. "It may not have been the way I thought I wanted it to be," she spoke honestly. "Angel and I might not have ever gotten The Happy -- "
"You and Angel?!" he sputtered, surprised. "How odd!"
"Oh, yeah, that's the Princess and the Champion there, almost as legendary as he was with your girl."
"And you are...?"
"Just call me Lorne, Peaches, but look, you've got a whole bunch of people waiting for you beyond the Pearly Gates. We're only the Welcoming Committee. They wanted you to know your kids will be well taken care of and well guided."
"I'm haunting Xander Harris forever!" declared Anya.
"Sure, you are, Duchess."
"Duchess?"
"He has a nickname for everybody," Cordelia explained, grinning. "I'm the Princess."
"You always were," Giles murmured.
"Mister Giles?" Joyce asked. A bright light was emitting just behind her, and Rupert could hear the murmuring of a myriad of voices. Amongst them, he was pretty certain he heard Jenny, and... Ethan?! Was that Ethan?! How had it --
Joyce smiled patiently. "It is not our place to judge, Mister Giles."
Rupert paused and looked back into the meadow again, at all the wonderful, capable adults he was leaving. It was no longer his time to judge, or to guide, but he had done his work well. Parting from them was not forever, either. They would each come to join him, and the others awaiting him now, when it was their turn to do so. But right now, it was his turn.
"Rupert? England, is that you?"
"Oh, come on, Ripper! Don't dawdle!"
How had Ethan made it there, Rupert wondered? But then, he'd once thought it impossible for him to make it there.
"Mister Giles, our friends are waiting. Peace is waiting. And our girl is going to be just fine." Joyce held out a hand to him.
He looked, one final time, over his tweed-clad shoulder. His smile filled his face and warmed the air. "She will, won't she?" he asked, and then took her mother's hand and the first few steps toward his own future. His children would be fine, and apparently, they even had their very own set of Guardian Angels to continue guiding them while he could not. He gently tugged on Joyce's hand, and looked up into the eyes of the woman he'd never dared to actually date while they'd both been doing their best to raise Buffy, to raise his Slayer, and daughter, and her daughter. "Call me Rupert," he spoke smoothly and smiled.
The End